


Exiled

by aconstantcrisis



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Manipulation, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29180994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aconstantcrisis/pseuds/aconstantcrisis
Summary: Tommy's in exile. His only friend is Dream, and he's willing to do anything so Dream doesn't leave him alone.hehe emotional trauma go brrrr
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78





	Exiled

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this while procrastinating working on my other work :)
> 
> ** TW: Emotional/physical abuse

Tommy could handle the food. 

He could live with the hard bread, the overcooked meat, the bruised apples, and the overall lack of flavor in his meals. 

Tommy could handle the bed.

The tent might not have been the most comfortable thing, made of two wool sheets draped over some large sticks, his bed just a thin and worn down bedroll directly on top of the hard grass, but it was bearable. 

Tommy could handle the punishments. 

He could take Dream destroying his armor every day, he could understand that this was what he deserved, and that he brought it upon himself. 

The only thing Tommy couldn’t handle was the solitude. 

He couldn’t take the way everyone had _ watched  _ him be escorted- no, forced out. Every time he closed his eyes the scene replayed, burned into his eyelids. Tubbo’s sad expression betrayed by his proud posture, Quackity’s hand on his shoulder. Ranboo, Niki, Fundy, everyone had been silent. Nobody spoke up for him. Nobody cared for him. Not after what he did.

He could still hear Dream’s low chuckle as he slapped the shackles onto Tommy’s wrists and pulled him into a boat. 

He couldn’t take the fact that even though  _ he _ wasn’t allowed back into L’Manburg, everyone else still could have visited him. It was clear to Tommy that nobody _ wanted  _ to come. That’s why he was so lonely. 

The only person who ever visited him was Dream. 

Tommy was beginning to realize that the only person who seemed to care at all was Dream. 

Tommy sniffled, turning over in his crappy sleeping bag. It was beginning to get lighter outside, signalling that the night was ceasing to day. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Another night of no sleep. 

He wondered what the point was. Every night since he had been exiled, he had laid awake in his thin blankets waiting for the sun to rise. It was agonizing.

He could feel deep bags under his eyes, the aching of his limbs and his chest. It’s not that he didn’t want to sleep. He would gladly welcome such a distraction, such a relief from the constant pressure in his head. 

It’s that he can’t. 

“Tommy!” A bright and cheerful voice sounds from outside Tommy’s shabby tent. He perks. 

“Good morning, big guy! How’d you sleep?”

Dream’s head peeks through the tent flaps. Tommy suppresses a shiver at the sight of the man, eyes and nose concealed by a smooth circular mask made of bone with a crudely drawn smiley face on it. Tommy can see the faint stain of bloody fingerprints pressed into the surface, faded like they had been scrubbed at but still there, imprinted, permanent. Tommy wonders if that’s intentional.

A thin fracture splits the mask over Dream’s right eye, a small chip missing from the edge. It teases Tommy, tasting his want to see all of the man’s face while keeping it just out of reach. In its disrepair, the mask is even more intimidating than it had been before the war. Like something had changed. It was more beaten down, sure, but it was also more vicious. More bloodthirsty.

Dream’s lips are relaxed in a gentle grin, hands shoved in the pockets of his lime green sweatshirt. He has a strap across his shoulder, crossing his chest and holding several leather holsters in place. Though he wears no armor, Tommy can see the glint of a netherite axe on his side next to a pouch of ender pearls and a bow and shield strapped to his back. Every item on his person drips with enchantments.

“Great, Dream. Thanks for asking.” Dream tilts his head at Tommy’s sarcastic tone.

“Tommy, I didn’t have to come here. Maybe I’ll leave if you’re gonna be in a shit mood today.”

“Oh, god, no. No, no.” Tommy scrambles to exit the tent, brushing the wrinkles from his shirt and standing to face Dream. “I’m sorry Dream, I just- I just didn’t sleep too well last night. I’m sorry I’m being annoying.”

Tommy’s words tumbled out of his mouth, apologies spewing desperately. 

Dream’s mouth softened into a small smile. Tommy wished he could see Dream’s eyes, that the mask wasn’t covering so much of his face. It made him feel so much more exposed. 

“Alright, Tommy. Keep your head on. But talk to me like that again and I’m not visiting for a month.”

Tommy shrinks. 

“Okay.” 

“Now,” Dream says, clapping his hands together loudly, “Let’s figure out the agenda for today. What’s the plan?”

Tommy lifts his head and starts, “Well, I was thinking we could plan a beach party. Nobody has come to visit me yet, and-” Dream holds a hand up. Tommy immediately stops talking. Dream pulls a small shovel from his pocket and quickly digs a hole. 

“Wait. Before we start, put your armor in the hole.” 

Tommy’s stomach drops. 

“Wa-wait a second, Dream. Can we s-skip this just for today? I mean… I just finally got enough iron to make a full set, and I don’t re-”

“Armor.” 

Tommy flinches and turns back into his tent, coming back with a full set of gleaming iron armor. It had taken Tommy hours to hammer out the smooth surfaces, and it was probably his best work since exile. It physically hurt him to pick them up, knowing their fate.

“Oh, Tommy? Any weapons. Put them in too.”

Tommy balks, glaring up at him as he reaches into a chest and withdraws his iron sword and pickaxe. He leaves his axe. 

Exiting the tent, he drops them unceremoniously into a pile. 

“There.” 

“Might want to stand back for this part.” Dream’s got a small smile on his lips, humor lacing his voice mockingly. 

Tommy shuffles backwards and turns away. Moments later, he hears a muffled explosion behind him. 

When he turns back, there’s a small crater. His armor and tools are gone. 

At least he still has his axe. The small win flares victoriously in his chest. 

He looks up at Dream defiantly, noticing the way his lips quirk downwards at Tommy’s expression. He quickly fixes it, but the damage is done.

“Tommy, that  _ was  _ all of your tools, right? You wouldn’t hide any from me, would you? I mean, after all we are friends. Friends don’t lie to each other.” 

Tommy glances downwards, a blush creeping up his neck. It’s answer enough for Dream. 

Dream ducks into the tent and Tommy hears the creak of his chest opening. 

_ Shit.  _

Dream withdraws from the tent holding an iron axe. Tommy can feel his stomach in his throat.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” Dream tutts, holding the accusing weapon in two hands and scanning it. Tommy’s knees tense. “When will you learn?”

He slides the axe over his back, sheathing it, and closes the space between the two of them. 

Tommy shrinks back, lowering his eyes. 

Dream raises a hand and brings it solidly across Tommy’s jaw, a dull thud resounding across the small area. Tommy stumbles back, a hand clutched against his face. Blood trickles from his nose, and he can taste metallic copper on his tongue. He looks up at Dream’s unblinking mask in horror. 

The sting on his cheek is nothing compared to his shame. What had he been thinking? What did he expect to happen? Dream raises his hand to strike again, and Tommy cowers, raising an arm in hopeless defense. He tenses, closing his eyes and waiting for the blow to land. 

It comes, not at his face but in his gut. Pain explodes immediately, blooming in his throat, in his stomach, in his chest. His breath is knocked from him and he stumbles to the ground. 

“ _ Why _ ?” Dream cries out above him, “Why do you  _ insist _ on defying me? We have been at this for weeks! All I ask is for you to give me your armor and tools in return for me not leaving you  _ completely alone _ , but you can’t do the simplest thing for me. Do you want me to leave? Do you hate me that much, that you don’t want me here keeping you company? I have been  _ nothing _ but good to you.”

Pain pricks behind Tommy’s eyes as Dream berates him. Dream sounds like he’s at the brink of tears. Every word drives a knife into Tommy’s heart and twists. Dream was right. Tommy was horrible. He was pushing away the one person who cared for him. He should have just given Dream the axe. 

He scrambles to stand, rushing at Dream and throwing his arms around the taller man’s waist. 

"I'm so- so sorry, Dream. Please- please don't… don't leave me. Please, please." He sobs into Dream’s sweatshirt. A hand hesitantly lands on top of his head and pats twice.

“It’s alright, I forgive you.” His voice is low and prideful. “Tommy?”

Two strong hands grip Tommy’s shoulders almost painfully, wrenching him back. Tommy’s eyes flick from the large spots of blood and tears now soiling Dream’s sweatshirt to his mask nervously. Dream lowers his head so they’re level.

Tommy can feel his hot breath against his nose. 

“Don’t do it again.”

Tommy nods quickly, and stumbles out of Dream’s grip as he suddenly lets go. 

“I think we’ve had enough fun for today. I’ll be back tomorrow and we can talk about your little beach party.” His face is stoic, unreadable. 

Tommy almost argues, wanting Dream to stay, but decides against it. His jaw is aching enough already.

He nods wordlessly and watches as Dream approaches the nether portal, looks down at his sweatshirt and lets out a hearty laugh. Tommy can hear his wheeze from across the field. Dream waves as he steps through, grinning. 

Tommy then enters his tent and collapses painfully onto his bedroll. He brushes his fingers over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. It doesn’t feel broken, which is a good thing. 

Tommy cradles his head in his hands and lets loose a deep, shuddering sob. Tears slip down his cheeks, hot and wet, soaking the fabric beneath him. 

He cries like that until he falls asleep, for the first time since he had been sent into exile. 

He doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> i might add more, like the beach scene and stuff, or maybe some stuff from dream's pov. comment if you want it.


End file.
